


The Arrow

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Cupid - Freeform, Dean is good with kids, Fluffy, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Poison Arrow, Stabbing, Valentine's Day, Vomiting, crying cas, episode levels of violence, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: People are dying, there's a rogue cupid on the loose, Castiel is in pain, Dean doesn't seem to notice, and Sam is so freakin' sick of Dean's gross flirting in front of everyone.A Valentine's Day fic where Castiel tries to tell everyone he's fine when he's not, Dean makes a Valentine's Day card, and monsters get ganked.





	The Arrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/gifts).



> For MalMuses, who had a NEED to see one of her fave gif sets made into a fic. (See the gif set in the bottom A/N, for spoilery purposes.)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day to Dean and Cas, ya filthy animals.
> 
> Thank you to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for being a cheerleader and alpha. Many thanks to zipegs and hectatess for betaing this sucker. You three were fucking amazing and I love everything you did for this fic.

 

“Three Valentine’s Day lunch specials, two teas, one coffee, and a slice of rhubarb pie… That’ll be sixty-nine dollars exactly,” their waitress said as she slid up beside Dean, Cas, and Sam’s booth, her rollerblades squeaking against the ground as she came to a hard stop. 

“Sixty-nine?” Dean said loudly with a crooked, handsome grin. He winked at her as he tugged his wallet out of his blazer. “That’s my favourite number.”

As—he glanced at her name tag—Patty chuckled, Dean peeked across at Sam and Cas, throwing them a wink too. Sam couldn’t look more unimpressed if he had “No, Dean” tattooed across his forehead. Cas immediately looked awkward, his eyes darting away from Patty and down to the half-eaten burger in front of him. The former angel balled up a napkin in his hand and threw it onto the plate, sitting back against the plastic booth with a grouchy slouch.

“That’s my favourite number too,” Patty replied, pressing her glossy lips together for a second before she smiled and held out her hand to accept the credit card Dean passed to her.

“You know what other number I might like?” Dean asked, raising his brows. “Your phone num—”

“That’s all for us!” Sam interrupted, clapping his hand down onto the table as a warning to Dean. “Thank you so much, Patty.”

“I feel nauseous,” Cas murmured under his breath, shifting in his seat haughtily and staring out the window with a scowl.

“Yeah, I feel you,” Sam muttered, eyes flickering across the tacky retro-style 60’s diner and wrinkling his nose. “The food was gross. It’s what we get for letting Dean pick the restaurant. Again.”

“You’re comin’ off as real bitter just because we didn’t go to your vegan, gluten-free, soy-free, carb-free, non-GMO, blah-blah-blah smoothie shack,” Dean complained, waving his hand at Sam dismissively before jutting a finger at Cas. “I was only thinking about Cas. He just went full mortal, okay? Give the dude a break; I’m sure he wants real food, not buckwheat and flaxseed. Right, Cas?”

Castiel looked up from the table like he suddenly became aware that he was visible to the human eye, blinking away a reverie of thought, his eyes clearing up. He shrugged and looked around grumpily. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry anyway.”

Sam’s face softened, and Dean’s heart fell a bit. Sam took the reins on this one, nudging Cas with his elbow.

“You sure, Cas? It’s been weeks, but you’ve eaten almost nothing since… well, y’know.” _Losing your grace, falling from Heaven, being cut off from home._

Cas shrugged, looking weirdly small in just a blazer, and looking weirdly more exhausted than usual, especially with his top button undone and his tie hanging loosely off his neck. He dragged his hand across the table in short sweeps, creating a tiny pile of bread crumbs and salt grains. 

“I’m sure. I think...I think I feel unwell, but I’m not certain I’ve been mortal long enough to tell the difference.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Dean rested an elbow on the table, leaning in and looking unimpressed. 

“Were you gonna tell us, or…?”

“Like I said,” Cas raised his eyes from the salt mountain, frowning, “I’m not sure I know the difference.”

“You got a fever?” Sam asked

Dean nodded in agreement, then suggested, “Feelin’ pukey?”

“No,” Cas muttered, sweeping the crumbs into his other hand and dumping them onto his plate. “And no. Just tired. My stomach feels strange, as does my chest. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s face fell flat and he muttered sarcastically, “He’s fine. He’ll be _fine._ Everything is _fine_.”

But Sam patted Cas on the shoulder and supplied kindly, “If you need anything, let us know.”

Cas raised his eyes to the ceiling like he thought it might open up and take him away from these idiots. 

“Aaaanyway,” Dean said, reaching across to steal a leftover fry from Cas’ abandoned plate, “let’s go over what we got on the case so far, before we talk to the victim number one’s sister.”

“Well, while you spoke to the cops—” Sam cleared his throat and opened a folder he’d tucked behind him, spreading his notes out on the table. He unlocked his phone and passed it to Dean. “—Cas and I went to the coroner’s office and managed to get a good look at the victims.”

Dean accepted Sam’s phone and scrolled through the images, which would turn the stomachs of any normal person. Thankfully, Dean was not a normal person and reached over to steal another fry from Cas’ plate, chewing loudly as he surveyed the dead bodies.

Sam watched Dean occasionally grimace at the pictures and carried on with his recap. “All victims had their chests busted open. Their hearts seemed to _literally explode_. Toxicology reports came back negative for alcohol or drugs, but the results were deemed inadmissible anyway because the blood in their veins was sludge.”

Dean made a fake-gagging noise, but turned the phone from portrait to get a better view. “Gross.” 

Sam nodded. “Black, thick, just...gross. It was pure poison.”

Zooming into an image of a victim’s back, Dean’s face screwed up with distaste. He passed back Sam’s phone. “What’s with the black hole in their spine? Gross.”

“Every victim suffered what appeared to be a stab wound, initially,” Cas added, eyes flickering up to Dean’s face from his plate. “The coroner determined that each wound was caused by the same weapon.”

“What was it?” Dean looked between Sam and Cas. 

Sam looked over at Cas, who sighed heavily and said, “An arrow.”

Dean didn’t miss the exchange of heavy glances. He shrugged his shoulders and gestured between them. “What?”

“Cas thinks we might have a rogue cupid on our hands,” Sam explained, his brows knitted together. A strand of long brown hair fell into his eyes, and he batted it away. “An angry one.”

“Again?” Dean groaned. “Didn’t we think that was happening a few years back, but it ended up being one of the horsemen?”

“It is not Famine this time. I’m almost certain it’s a cupid. They are always especially active around Valentine’s Day,” Cas explained, though he added with a huff, “Which is ridiculous, because Valentine’s Day means nothing in the celestial calendar, but humans seem to find it important—”

“Awww,” Dean interrupted, his teeth flashing mischievously. “You bitter because you don’t have a Valentine?”

Cas took a moment to inhale deeply, and he raised his hand to rub at his stomach before he carried on loudly, brows raised and eyes diverted to the table. “Human prayers for love, for companionship were always particularly heavy around this time. It was our cupids’ busiest time of year. However, I suspect, with no Heavenly Host to provide guidance, we may indeed have a rogue running amok.”

“But killing people?” Dean asked, his lips twisted in confusion. He stared at Cas. “What’s the deal with that? Isn’t that, like, anti-cupid?”

“It is,” Cas replied quietly. “Which is why we need to find out why they’re shooting innocents in the back with poisoned arrows.”

***

It was overwhelming. The nausea, the stomach pain, the heavy pressure on his chest that felt like he was a hair’s breadth away from choking. It was worst in the mornings, but today Castiel couldn’t shake it. His skin was cold in the February air, but wearing the trenchcoat made him feel hot under his skin, like his blood was boiling.

Castiel realised he was hugging his stomach again, a natural reaction to feeling anxious, and he lowered his arms to his side with his fingers curled into fists. 

“Okay, so!” Sam announced, followed by Dean as they appeared from the side door of a house. “So much for ‘shooting innocents.’”

Castiel stood up straight, pushing off the car so that Dean wouldn’t tell him off for ‘leaving a dent in baby,’ but also so that he could feel grounded, two feet on the solid earth.

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

Dean snorted, pushing back his blazer to shove his hands into his trouser pockets. “Vic number two, Mr. Jordon Bleaks? Yeah, he was bangin’ the nanny.”

Cas’ eyebrows furrowed, knitting together, his mouth curling into an ‘o’ for a moment while he considered what Dean just said, “Banging the… _oh_ , I see.”

“Yeah.” Dean fished his keys from his pockets. “Boinkin’ the babysitter. Got a taste of that nanny fanny, am I right?” Dean burst into laughter. “I mean, dude was living a real-life porno. While Sam was chatting up the widow, I hacked their Nest. Thought I could see if maybe someone planted a hex bag or if Cupid was gettin’ stabby when the vic was at home, but nah, all I found out was that the two-timer came home during lunch to nail the nanny.” Dean tugged his hands out of his pockets to bring his palm down flat in front of his crotch. “Did her from behind while the freakin’ kids were napping.”

“Anything else?” Sam asked.

Dean grinned. “Oh, yeah. She was smokin’. She went down on him like _down-town,_ like _—”_

Castiel felt sick.

Sam flailed his hands through the air and interrupted sharply, “ _Not_ what I meant, Dean! Stick to the case, jeeze. Was there anything else _case-_ related?”

“Oh, nah,” Dean said with a dismissive hand wave. “I mean, maybe there was more. I could always go back and do some more investigating—”

Sam yanked open the passenger side door and threw his brother a bitch face. “You’re not going back in there to watch more dead-guy nanny porn.”

Dean looked at Castiel with wide eyes and an offended jerk of his head, as if he was waiting for Castiel to back him up. Turning back to Sam, Dean scoffed, “Dude, say that _any_ louder?”

Castiel rested his hand on the top of the car, relieved for the feeling of something solid to ground him.

“What did the wife say? Was she aware?” Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head as he slid into the car, urging the others to follow suit with a nod. “No, she didn’t suspect a thing. Or, at least, she didn’t let on. She seemed pretty heartbroken about her husband, actually.” Sam glanced back at Cas, his jaw clenching and eyes soft. “She just wants answers, y’know?”

“What a shitty Valentine’s Day for her,” Dean muttered, shaking his head as turned on the ignition. “Happy love day; here’s a dead husband.”

They were all quiet for a moment, feeling for the mourning widow.

Dean’s voice brought Castiel out of a spiraling, depressing train of thought. “You feelin’ better, Cas?”

No. “Yes, a bit.”

Dean poked at Sam’s shoulder and gestured with his thumb to the back seat. “Trade with Cas.”

Offended, Sam looked over sharply at his brother. “What? No! Why?”

“ _Because,”_ Dean argued, “I like him better.”

Castiel instantly felt well, the annoying sensation of stones in his stomach alleviating, replaced with a fluttering feeling he didn’t mind at all.

“Oh, really?” Sam laughed, pushing open his door. “‘Couldn’t be because if you think he’s car sick, the front seat is better?”

The heaviness settled back in. Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window. “I’m fine back here.”

But Sam was already out of the car, walking around the back. Dean turned around and grinned at Cas. “Come on, Cas. Come sit with the cool kids.”

“No, I’m—” 

Sam yanked open the backseat door and smiled at Castiel. 

“—fine.”

With a sigh, he got out and walked around the car, sliding in beside Dean just as Sam shut the door in the back.

“Taaa-dah!” Dean said playfully, grinning big at Castiel, who only found that the happy smile made his chest hurt for some reason. “Better?”

Castiel crossed his arms, pressing his forearms up against his stomach, not enjoying the added pain in his chest now. “This front seat feels the same as the back seat.”

Both Winchesters thought that was funny for some reason, chortling as Dean pulled out onto the road. The sound of Dean’s laughter made Castiel feel exhausted—it made his head feel fuzzy.

“You wanna pick the tunes? Loud or quiet?” Dean asked, reaching over to open the glove compartment.

“What!” Sam yelped from the back seat. “You’re letting Cas pick the music? How fair is that!?”

Castiel’s hands shook for some reason as he reached forward to pull a worn, cloudy plastic box out from the glove compartment, and his fingers trembled as he rifled through the cassette tapes. He really must be getting sick. Something was definitely wrong with his vessel.

“Shut it,” Dean said to Sam, grinning at him in the rear-view mirror. “Cas isn’t feelin’ so hot. He gets to pick the music.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder. He and Sam exchanged wide eyes of surprise, but when he glanced over at Dean, he received a wink.

He could throw up.

***

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Sam patted the arm of the grieving kindergarten teacher as the young woman sniffled and pressed a wad of tissue to the corner of her eye.

“Thanks,” she whispered, turning red eyes up at Sam and pressing her lips together in a wobbly smile. “My sister was a good girl, you know? We’re all… we’re all broken up about it. She was supposed to come to my birthday this weekend, but n-now I’ll never see her again.” 

She pointed to a table in the back corner, where a bunch of preschoolers were crawling over each other to get the best crayon or glue stick. Addressing a hyperactive little boy that was bouncing around their legs, she asked, “Have you finished your valentine?”

“YEEES!” the screeching little boy exclaimed, tossing his head back and spinning in circles.

The teacher look stressed, her hair frazzled and nose all red. “Well, _go make another one_!”

“Um, about your sister. That’s terrible, Ms. Tathum,” Sam said softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “We really appreciate you talking to us about it, though. We understand it’s difficult to discusst, but we’re working to find out who murdered your sister.”

A horde of squealing kindergarteners ran around their legs and interrupted briefly, squealing as they threw spongy building blocks at each other. 

The teacher paused in her blubbering to wave the snotty tissue at the children. “Braden! Cory! Cut that out! What did we say about sharing? Cory, you throw that one more time and we’ll be staying after class _again_ to talk about why head trauma isn’t a polite thing to do to someone else!”

Another red block was thrown past their faces, the tip of Cas’ nose barely avoiding airborne collision.

Ms. Tathum rubbed at her forehead and gestured around the large classroom, at the crafts on the walls and toys all over the floor. “I wanted to take some bereavement time off, but there’s no one else here to take care of the kids. I’ve used up all my vacation this year… God, who would do this to my baby sister?”

“We’re working on it,” Dean replied kindly.

As Castiel stared around the room, eyes narrowed like he was suspicious of every toddler in the place, he asked gruffly, “Do you know of any reason someone would want to kill your sister?”

“No,” Tatham said quickly, her wet eyes wide. “No, of course not!”

Sam’s brows went up. “No angry neighbour? No jealous ex?” 

Dean swayed on his feet and suggested conversationally, “No babysitter she was particularly fond of?”

Patting at her running nose, the teacher blinked around tears and asked, “What?”

Castiel leaned forward a bit, looking up through his lashes at her. “He’s trying to ask if your sister was cheating on her partner.”

Dean broke into nervous chuckles, while Sam rubbed at his eyes. 

“What my partner is trying to say here,” Dean clarified, “is that—”

“MISTER!” 

Dean was interrupted by a tiny hand yanking on his sleeve. 

“HEY MISTER!”

All four adults turned their faces south to look down at a small girl who was waving a shitty-looking little red heart at Dean. She grinned big at him and smacked him on the leg with the heart.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dean greeted, kneeling down to get on eye-level with her. “What’s that?”

The little girl had no sense of volume, and no idea she’d interrupted a serious conversation. She was preoccupied with handing Dean the heart and yelling, “I made this!”

He took the heart from her and opened it, grinning at the half-dried glitter smeared all over it and a few broken curly pieces of macaroni glued haphazardly.

“Very pretty,” Dean said, flashing her a winning smile. “Who is this for?’’

Ignoring his question, Eva cackled and yelled again, “I MADE this!”

Ms. Tathum exhaled heavily, looking flustered. “Eva, this isn’t a good time. FBI man doesn’t want your valentine; he’s working right now.”

Dean ignored her though, as did Eva, who didn’t have a care in the world for the FBI. She probably didn’t even know what ‘FBI’ meant.

“I made it for my balentime!” she exclaimed, throwing her little arms in the air and shrugging. “But he made a green balentime and gave it to Bradley, so he’s not my balentime anymore.”

Dean laughed and held waved the floppy red heart in the air. “Well, it’s very nice. Bradley is missing out.”

“It’s for you!” Eva squeaked back, reaching up to squish Dean’s cheeks, her little fingertips digging into his stubble.

Her teacher yelped, eyes wider than ever. “Eva! What did I say about touching strangers’ faces? Germs, Eva! Germs!”

She was ignored yet again as Dean and Eva shared a giggle. “I’m a bit old for you, sweetheart,” Dean offered, trying to hand back. “Maybe give it to one of your friends.”

“Noooo,” she protested, shaking her head, the dozens of little braids with beads on the ends spinning around madly. “It’s for _you_ to give to your balentime. I _made it_ with construction paper—” she began listing off craft materials, excited and breathless, “and macaronies, and glue, and glitter. You can write their name inside! Come on.” She grabbed Dean’s thumb and yanked at his hand. “You can use my smelly markers. The blue one smells like raspberries!”

“ _Eva—”_ Ms. Tathum exclaimed, aghast, but Sam interrupted her with a lofty wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about her; she’s fine.”

Dean got to his feet and let Eva lead him away, grinning back at Cas and Sam. “You two carry on; I’ve got official business to attend to at the crafts table.”

“Um,” Castiel muttered, as he felt a bit weak, turning back to the school teacher. “Can we sit?”

“Of course,” Ms. Tatum said rushedly, waving her hands and gesturing to the desk with chairs just a ways beside them. “Of course, take a seat.”

Castiel tried hard to ignore Sam’s look of concern. He felt his face tingle and knew he probably looked pale.

As they sat, Castiel shifted in his seat, feeling relieved as his trembling hands found a steady home in between his thighs.

“As we were saying,” he continued. “Was your sister involved in any extra-marital activities that we would need to know about?”

Sam cleared his throat loudly, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tatham—”

“Regina,” the woman corrected.

“Regina, I understand that’s an uncomfortable question, but at this juncture, it’s important that we know all the details.”

A silence fell over them as her face crumpled and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. She pressed the tissue to her lips and inhaled shakily, staring down at her desk.

Then, she looked up with watery brown eyes and whispered, “She had this _friend_ , Ashley. They started hanging out a lot over Christmas. My sister Tammy and her partner, Joana, were having a rough spot, y’know? My sister was a good person, I swear. But they were fighting and around Christmas money always gets tight for them so, I mean… Well, we all usually hope they don’t show up to family things together because it always ends in bickering. It’s uncomfortable. So…”

Sam exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think she was having an affair with Ashley.”

Regina hiccuped and nodded, looking small. “We all suspected. But, God, I swear, she’s… she _was_ a nice girl. She was just misguided. She made a mistake.” Regina’s eyes went wide and she lowered the tissue, looking between Cas and Sam. “You… You don’t think Ashley is responsible for this, right?”

Cas and Sam exchanged looks. Castiel opened his mouth to answer to the affirmative, but luckily Sam, who had more tact, interrupted.

“We can’t speak to the details of the case, Regina. But we appreciate your honesty.”

They moved to get up, and Regina followed, reaching out to them over the desk, her eyes panicked. Quietly, glancing around the room to the children, she whispered, “Ashley is a sweet girl too, Mr. Stallone, Mr. Pachino. I-I don’t think she could even hurt a fly, let alone s-stab my sister. Ash works here; she’s a third grade teacher. I mean, that’s how Ashley and my sister met. She came with me to a staff Christmas party and… Anyway, Ashley I haven’t spoken much to but I really don’t think she’d hurt anyone—”

Sam held up a hand and nodded. “I understand, Regina. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”

Dean picked the opportune time to show up, striding through the seats of small humans, tucking something in his back pocket. When he walked up to the group, he smiled charmingly at Regina.

“Thank you for your time.” He reached in his jacket pocket and extended a card to her. “If you need anything. Anything at all, you call me.”

Castiel gripped the table, feeling a bit dizzy. He shut his eyes for a second, gripping the edge as his legs felt weak again, his stomach turning. 

“...Yes, yes.” Regina nodded absentmindedly. “Thank you.”

Opening his eyes, Castiel forced himself to speak, and was glad when his voice came out the usual steady baritone. “Where can we find Ashley? Which room number?”

Regina’s eyes watered again and she said through trembling lips, “S-She’s on a stress leave. After my sis…after she…” her breath hitched. “Ashley hasn’t been back to work since.”

Sam reached out, patting her arm again. “Don’t worry about it, Regina. You take it easy.”

“And Ashley,” Dean added, “what’s her last name?”

In a trembling breath, Regina whispered, “Madison.”

Dean snorted and leaned in towards Cas as they walked away, “Of course it is. How ironic.”

Castiel just nodded, inhaling the scent of Dean’s cologne and the minty quality of his breath as it wafted over his jawline.

With Ashley not in the building, they had to find another way of speaking to her. That other way, it seemed, required Dean to flirt heavily with the receptionist, while Castiel tried to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and the horrible feeling in his chest. He watched the receptionist giggle at Dean and decided he didn't like her at all. Her name was Rhonda. What a stupid name.

Behind her back, Sam snuck into a row of files, soundlessly rooting around, trying to avoid detection.

“Rhonda, thank you for letting us interrupt that class this morning. You’ve really done the FBI a service,” Dean said charmingly, reaching over the counter to squeeze her shoulder.

The woman cleared her throat and nodded, the hollows of her cheeks flushed. “Well, anything I could do to help, agents.”

“You’re an angel,” he mused, winking.

“I have to sit,” Castiel said abruptly. Vomiting was a very real prospect, or so he assumed. He hadn’t ever vomited, but his stomach was turning like he imagined it would if he were to be sick. What was _wrong_ with him? 

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean said absentmindedly, clapping him on the arm as he turned to walk away. When Castiel looked back, Dean was already turned back to Rhonda. The sick feeling got worse, so Castiel sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair as he tried to get a grip on himself. Controlling a human body couldn’t be that much different than controlling a vessel. Humans always say, ‘mind over matter.’ Perhaps if he concentrated…

“All right, well, thank you so much, Rhonda! Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again very soon.”

Dean tapped the counter top and pointed at the secretary, who smiled in return. When Castiel got to his feet, Sam wasn’t anywhere in sight.

They exited the office, suddenly alone in the hallway as they walked towards the school lobby.

Castiel put one foot in front of the other, trying to concentrate on just that, pretending to be interested in the awards and school pictures on the walls, when Dean hit him gently on the shoulder with his knuckle.

“Hey, you all right?” Dean asked, tugging on the sleeve of Castiel’s suit jacket, concern curling his pink, smooth-looking lips down at the corners. “You’ve been really off for the past few weeks. You wanna sit this one out?”

The stones in Castiel’s stomach grew heavier, rattled by a jump of his heart. He shook his head and murmured absentmindedly, “No. I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should eat something,” Dean suggested.

The stiff fabric of Castiel’s suit jacket was still held in Dean’s fist and Castiel couldn’t stop fixating on it.

“You should focus on the case, Dean.”

But Dean Winchester was persistent and stubborn, and currently gracing Castiel with a bright green gaze, alight with worry.

“You haven’t really eaten, Cas,” Dean scolded. “And don’t think I don’t notice you tossing and turning, and walking around the bunker at butt crack o’clock—” Castiel paused to survey Dean, eyes narrowing, head tilting in confusion. “You can talk to me if you’re not doin’ all right, you know that, right? I mean,” Dean blinked awkwardly and gestured vaguely at nothing. “I’m no Sam with the feelings and the Oprah moments, but I got ears.”

It was hard, as always, to lie to Dean. Words hovered just under the lump in his throat, but didn’t pass it. He swallowed them again and shook his head.

“Just unwell. Nothing to be concerned about,” Castiel replied stiffly, looking away because the way Dean was surveying his facial features carefully made Castiel’s palms sweat a bit. When they didn’t restart their walk, and Dean’s hand didn’t leave Castiel’s arm, he forced himself to meet the green gaze again. 

“It’s part of being human, isn’t it?” Castiel asked softly, taking in freckled and tanned skin and soft dirty blond hair.

“Sure is,” Dean agreed, nodding like he was recalling fond memories. He flicked his eyebrows up and smirked. “Nothing like cold and flu to welcome you to mortality.” 

Castiel’s gaze dropped when Dean released his arm and walked ahead, calling out over his shoulder, “We’ll grab you some Tylenol from the trunk. Remind me.”

“Tylenol,” Castiel murmured after Dean, feeling exhausted. 

As if that would help.

***

“It was a-a-awful,” Ashley sobbed, her fingers over her mouth as she recounted her tale.

Dean passed her a tissue, rubbing her back. Castiel watched Dean’s face.

“It’s okay, just tell us what happened,” Dean coached, flashing her a crinkly-eyed side smile.

Ashley tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her ear and wiped her snotty nose on the back of her wrist, taking several hitched breathes before she wheezed, “We were, y-y’know, _together_ , in the kitchen. Tammy was behind me, k-kissing my neck, y’know, and then she just… just…” 

A string of words got lost as Ashley’s voice got so high and tight that she couldn’t enunciate.

Castiel felt for her, even if she assisted in Tammy’s adulterous behavior. Ashley’s pain was so visceral that it made his chest hurt worse and his eyes sting a bit. Perhaps Dean was right; maybe he needed sleep.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam said softly, linking his hands between his knees, doing that gentle, supportive frown with his lips. “We just want to know what happened so we can get the person who did this.”

But Ashley was shaking her head, wiping at her running mascara with her fingers. “Y-You wouldn’t believe me.”

“We’ll believe you,” Castiel said firmly. “You can trust us.”

Ashley met his eyes. Castiel tried smiling at her. For some reason, she looked soothed, and he briefly felt his heart ache, missing when he could calm the distraught with a mere touch of his hands. For now, he figured a smile would do. It’s what Dean and Sam did.

A bit more calmly, Ashley nodded and looked at the three of them. “She made this...this _gurgling_ noise. It was awful, a-and then she just dropped. I though she fainted, ‘cause she’d been real sick lately.” Ashley shifted on the couch, crossing her legs and curling her arms over her chest. “Nauseous, and weak, and she hadn’t eaten anything for days. She’d been staying with me because she was fighting with um, with J—with, um, nevermind.” An embarrassed blush crossed her face as she looked down guiltily into her lap. The boys exchanged quick looks before she carried on. “Anyway, she’d been all dizzy that day and I thought maybe she’d passed out ‘cause of that.

“But then…” Her face crumpled. “...then when I turned around, she was _dead_. She was bleeding this black gunk and there was this long, silver arrow in her back. And...oh, god.”

“Go on,” Dean encouraged.

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut, her cheeks shining. “There was this _man_. This little, angry man. He had a beard, and a fucking bow and arrow!”

Sam and Dean immediately looked at Castiel, who trained his face to look blank. 

“A bow and arrow?” Castiel repeated.

Ashley nodded, earrings swinging wildly. She wiped at her face and whispered thickly, “The freak had arrow tattoos all over his arms and this deep, angry voice. H-He said she deserved it. He said she had rejected his _gift_.” Spitting, Ashley turned red. “Whatever the fuck that means!”

All three men shifted in their seats. A bow and arrow. A gift.

“And then!” she exclaimed, gaining momentum, pointing at nothing with a shaking finger. “He started to walk towards me and I tried to run, b-but I slipped in—” she inhaled sharply, sobbing “—I-I slipped in Tammy’s blood and hit my head. I thought I was a goner, but then he said, ‘What is wrong with you humans?’ and, God, you’re not gonna believe me, but he reached forward and touched my face. All I saw was this bright white light and then, when I came to, later; poof, he was gone. He was gone and the arrow was gone.”

Well, that settled it. Castiel nodded to the Winchesters and they excused themselves from the room, wishing Ashley farewell and taking leave of her house.

“What’s the verdict, Cas?” Dean said as they ducked under a low-hanging branch on the side of Ashley’s house.

“Definitely a cupid,” Castiel murmured. “Or at least, someone who is posing as a cupid.”

“Do cupids just go around shooting people with poisoned arrows?” Sam asked, his features twisted into a puzzled expression, sliding his hands into his pockets to shield himself from the cool February air.

“Not usually,” Castiel admitted as they reached the car. “But, like I said, it’s not impossible that a cupid would fall to Earth and be confused. Cupids typically shoot their targets and leave, they don’t loiter. Without their wings, they can’t stray far.”

Part-way through opening his door, Dean reeled back, looking confused. “What? They can’t fly off, so they’re stalking their targets?”

Castiel shrugged, sliding his cold hands into his pant pocket. He wondered briefly if he wasn’t supposed to use his pant pockets for that purpose, because Dean’s eyes did a quick but deliberate glance down at them, before snapping back up to Castiel’s face. His sharp jaw clenched. 

Determined not to let Dean see his self-consciousness, Castiel sighed and replied, “I can imagine that they’re curious to see how their matchmaking ends up? Without the Host giving them instructions, I imagine they’re on their own, making their own matches. I can see how they could get curious as to whether their work is successful.”

“Creepy,” Sam muttered.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “I can also see them being curious about their past matches. Tammy and Joana had been together since before the Fall. If this cupid set them up before, he might be angry that Tammy was adulterous, that she—”

“—rejected his gift,” Dean finished, his teeth bared as he looked severely unimpressed.

Sam sighed as he walked to the passenger seat, while Dean groaned and looked grumpily at Castiel. Dean shrugged and turned his palms up indignantly. “So we got some stalker cupid on our hands, angry that his matchmaking isn’t working out? Great. Just _great._ Couldn’t he just buy himself a copy of The Sims like the rest of us freaks and call it a day?”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel admitted. To his chagrin, he felt the pit of his stomach ache; he knew the feeling, it was shame. He felt shame for not getting the joke. Dean certainly had a way of making him feel stupid for it. He expected to be mocked, any second now, but the jab never came. Dean just reached out and patted Castiel’s arm.

“It’s all right, buddy. You’ve got a lifetime to lose entire days to that game. It’s a right of passage to humanity.” 

The grin Dean graced Castiel with, so big and genuine, made Castiel’s hands shake in his pocket. He felt like throwing up again and panicked, nodding quickly and turning away.

“I see,” was all he said as he yanked open the back door and slid in.

“You not gonna sit in the front with me?” Dean asked as he slid into the front, and scowled at Cas in the rearview.

“I feel better back here,” Castiel lied. 

“You sure? I mean, if you’re car sick, you should really ride up front, man. I don’t want you being sick all over the back…” But Dean trailed off when Castiel grabbed his cold trench coat from the seat beside him and bundled it up, propping it up against the window and resting his head on it.

“You gonna nap, Cas?” Sam asked gently, turning in his seat. 

“Yes. We can go back to the hotel; I have a ritual we can use to conjure the cupid. I just...need to rest.”

Everyone was silent. Castiel closed his eyes as the car rumbled under him, Baby coming to life, ready to take them away. 

He kept his eyes shut the entire ride, hoping that he could convince them he was sleeping. It seemed to work because they spoke in hushed tones, and Dean even lowered the music so it was nothing but a soft hum from the front seat. They seemed to believe he was in deep, deep sleep because at a stop light, he heard the shuffling of fabric, and Dean’s voice in a mumble.

“Put this on him.”

There was silence.

Then Sam: “Uh, you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, “the heater doesn’t reach back there as well. Just do it, you nerd.”

There was the creaking of leather, a bit of grunting, and then Castiel felt something heavy and warm settle over his body. Stiff but soft fabric brushed his face and he felt Sam arrange a warm material over him, tucking the sides into his back and tugging the top up close to his face. The scent of leather and worn, soft cologne suddenly filled the space around him.

“There,” Sam said, the leather creaking again. “We good?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’re good.”

The Winchesters fell silent. The Impala trembled softly under him, her engine roaring up again as Dean propelled her forward, resuming their journey.

Castiel waited until he could hear Sam tapping at his phone, before he let his eyes slide open. He looked down and saw Dean’s jacket over him, heavy and impossibly warm. Castiel sucked in a quick breath and looked up into the rearview mirror. Green eyes looked back at him, but quickly looked away.

Feeling dizzy, Castiel shut his eyes and ignored the stinging in the corners. He pulled the jacket up closer to his face, over his mouth and nose. The smell of Dean was all that filled him in place of the grace he missed so much. 

Castiel didn’t experience a moment of rest the entire way back.

***

“ _Zo da ka ma, mah ra na,”_ Castiel chanted, again.

He’d been chanting the summoning phrase for at least fifteen minutes, and his voice was starting to crack. 

“You sure it’s working, Cas?” Dean asked from beside him. 

Castiel opened his eyes and rolled them, grinding through his teeth, “Yes, for the third time. Yes. It’s working. This is the summoning ritual. It’s worked for a millenium, why wouldn’t it work now?”

Dean rolled his eyes right back and said lazily, “Because while you’ve been voodoo-ing, we’ve been sitting on this gross carpet for like eighty-four years, holding hands like twelve-year-old girls at a Ouija-board sleepover, and I’m hungry. I’m like, hangry-hungry. Nothing is happening.”

“Dean, cut it out. We’re all tired, we’re all hungry,” Sam snapped, opening his eyes too and glaring up at the ceiling. “You just wanna get this cupid thing over with so you can go celebrate Unattached Drifter Christmas.”

“Oh my god,” Dean said, snatching his hands away from Castiel and his brother. He threw his hands in the air and glared at Sam. “You kidding, man? Don’t you think we got bigger fish to fry?”

“You seriously not gonna do the whole bar hop and threesome thing you always do?” Sam argued back.

Castiel felt sick.

“Oh, come on! I haven’t done that in _years!”_

Sam barked out laughter. “Yeah, right! You skipped _one_ year like three years ago and you’re acting like the perv parade suddenly stopped. Remember last year? You locked me out in the snow while you nailed some lonely girls from the motel bar. You had a rash and burning pee for like four days after and had to get antibiotics—”

“Um,” Castiel said, shifting on the spot, feeling hot all of a sudden. 

“Dude, are you fucking kidding me?” Dean exclaimed, turning red. ”You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone about that and now _Cas_ knows? Maybe I should tell Cas about that case of crabs you got from that witch!”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, flicking long hair back from his face with a little terse toss of his head. “You’ve been barely keeping it in your pants all freakin’ day; it’s nauseating! The waitress, the teacher, the receptionist. And now you’re tryna rush the ritual to gank Cupid, so you can go stick your own arrow in—”

“I’ll be a minute,” Castiel muttered gruffly, though the Winchesters were too busy being angry with each other to notice.

“ _You_ come on,” Dean retorted to Sam. “I’ve been workin’ the case all day with you losers, haven’t I?”

Using the bed to lift himself off the floor, Castiel stepped over Dean to get to the washroom. He barely made it in time to even close the door. The Winchesters stopped bickering behind him as he fell to his knees and gripped the toilet seat in shaking hands. 

“Cas?” Sam called out.

The answer was lost with the contents of Castiel’s stomach in a stream that made such a disgusting sound, he threw up again just from the noise.

“Whoa, buddy,” he heard Dean say from behind him, his voice somewhere around the doorframe. “Uh, Sam, grab me that water bottle from my duffle. Should still be cold from the trunk—AHH!”

Castiel coughed into his sleeve, blinking tears of exertion from his eyes as he looked over his shoulder.

“Stay where you are!” Sam’s booming voice exclaimed from inside the room. Dean’s shoulders were tensed, his fists curled at his sides. Castiel saw him grab the door handle and close the door a bit, shielding Castiel from view of whatever had entered the room.

Castiel pushed himself to his feet and spat into the toilet. After he flushed it and grabbed a wad of toilet paper, he stepped up behind Dean and looked beyond him into the room. Dean felt his presence and looked over his shoulder, eyes sweeping over Castiel’s face. 

“You okay?” he asked quickly, watching Castiel cough a little bit into the paper. When Castiel nodded back, Dean jerked his head back towards the room to alert Cas to their intruder, and his grip on the door eased up, letting him see more of the room.

In between the two boring-looking hotel beds, a short, tubby looking man wearing a black suit stood, holding a bow and arrow in his hands. The bow was large and looked heavy, with elaborate Enochian carvings and angels etched into the ends. He looked between Sam, who was pointing an angel blade at him, and Dean and Cas, who were huddled in the bathroom doorway.

“Is he gonna hug us and stuff?” Dean muttered from the corner of his mouth, wincing.

Castiel lowered the tissue from his face, scowling. “Something tells me this one isn’t very...huggy.”

“You summoned me?” The cupid asked, raising his eyebrows and lowering his weapon as soon as he saw Castiel. “I heard your voice, brother.”

“Listen, Cupid, we know what you’re doing,” Castiel said bitterly, eyes narrowing. “Explain your actions.”

The cupid lowered his bow and surveyed them coldly through dark lashes, his eyes an electric silvery-blue. As his lip curled, his thick black mustache quivered.

“You’ve been hunting me, have you not?” he asked, a heavy, wiry brow raising. “You tell me. What’s the theory?”

“Creepy,” Sam muttered, keeping his blade raised.

The cupid shot Sam a peeved look, but rolled his eyes back to Castiel and then jutted out a hip expectantly. 

Castiel pushed past Dean, into the room. He reached inside the pocket of his trench coat, hanging from a hook beside the door, and pulled out his angel blade. Steeling himself, he said, “You’re checking up on your previous targets, seeing if they have cherished the love you’ve bestowed upon them. When they fail,”—Castiel tilted his head—“you poison them. You kill them.”

The cupid opened his mouth to reply hotly, and his eyes narrowed, but the reply died on his lips. He tossed aside his bow onto the bed and threw his hands up, looking frustrated.

His eyes flashed as he stepped towards Castiel, beard jiggling against his chest as he yelled, spit flying from his mouth, “These humans. They spit on the gifts bestowed upon them by Heaven. I gave them the one thing God provided in its purest form: love. In a world full of murder, and hatred, and war, I gave them each other. What do they do?”

His narrowed eyes had widened, now so big they bulged. He gestured to them aggressively with flat, straining palms. 

“They reject their gift! They choose not to love each other; they choose to suffer. I never knew what became of my targets. I always assumed they would follow their hearts, give in to God’s love, embrace His gift with open arms.” The cupid looked between Dean and Castiel, his eyes shining. “I never in my millennia of existence assumed humanity would turn from the gift. I never knew. I never knew until we all fell. The past few weeks have provided me an education I never asked for.”

Sam, Dean, and Castiel exchanged uncomfortable looks, and the horrible sinking feeling in Castiel’s stomach got worse. 

The angel pressed his hands to his chest. “I visited Tammy Tatham, Jordon Bleaks. I saw that they had not only rejected their love, but they turned their back on it completely. They acknowledged their love and actively chose to betray it. Their partners, their _soulmates_ remained ignorant to their crimes.”

“So you chose to kill them!?” Dean snarled from the doorway, his own angel blade in his hand now, slipped from the jacket that hung from a hook beside the bathroom, no doubt.

“I chose nothing,” the cupid whispered, his eyes glittering. “Angels are not meant to choose...but I fear my anger has twisted my powers. My mere presence turned the arrows to poison. I only meant to retrieve the arrows, the humans didn’t deserve them. But when I appeared, the arrows had tainted them. They fell, they died. Their blood, the elixir of life, it thickened with poison.”

“So,” Sam said, and Castiel looked back, seeing the youngest Winchester lowering his weapon, “you didn’t actually mean to kill them?”

The cupid bowed his head, his eyes roiling as he stared at his bow. “I didn’t... _not_ kill them.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean groaned. “Fucking semantics.”

“I... _wished_ for them to die,” the cupid whispered, raising his head. “I wished for them to suffer as their soulmates would suffer if they knew of their betrayal. Tammy and Jordon, their fates were completely within their control. They betrayed love and their fates acted in accordance. The punishment”—he swallowed loudy—“fit the crime.”

Castiel and the cupid stared at each other.

“Cas?” Dean asked slowly, his footsteps soft over the carpet.

With pain inside him swelling as the moments passed, Castiel felt overwhelmed. He rolled the angel blade in his hand and choked out, “You two need to go.”

He heard creaking from behind him and just knew the boys were exchanging looks. Then Dean and Sam confirmed his suspicion by asking in sync, “Us?”

“Yes,” he rasped, feeling tears stinging at his eyes. “Get out. I need a word with this cupid.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Sam warned.

“No freakin’ way we’re leaving you alone with gothic Cupid,” Dean barked.

“Go!” Cas snapped, turning his head to stare at Sam. “Take Dean and wait outside. I won’t ask twice.”

Sam looked like he was going to protest, then he nodded, a knowing look passing between him and Castiel. He jerked his head towards the door and left, but Dean took longer to fold. Castiel and the cupid locked eyes, their expressions loaded, while Dean stood his ground. 

Then, heavy footsteps followed Sam’s and the door slammed shut so aggressively that the cleaning schedule beside the door dropped to the ground, glass shattering across the faded yellow linoleum kitchen floor.

“You poisoned me,” Castiel whispered, 

The cupid narrowed his eyes, tilting his head a bit. “I...didn’t mean to.”

“The arrow,” Castiel choked, so dizzy he felt like falling, “the one in me. Take it out.”

It was then that the cupid stepped back, his brows knitted together. “You want me to _take it out_? Castiel, that’s not possible.”

Castiel sucked in a breath, his chin trembling, and he wheezed, “Take it out of me. I know you can.”

“No,” the cupid replied, his voice heavy with regret, “you don’t understand.”

Castiel’s hands shook as he raised the blade and pointed it at the cupid aggressively. With a growl that mingled with a hitched gasp, he breathed, “What I understand is that this _thing_ has been in me for years, hasn’t it? It’s why I feel...Why I feel so…”

“I know, sweet Castiel,” the cupid whispered, his hand coming up to press into his own chest, his eyes shining. His face displayed nothing but empathy, his expression twisted in shared agony. “I know how you’re feeling, I know how it torments you. I can see how broken it makes you. It’s why you’ve been sick. My presence, it amplifies the power of the arrow. Yours, it’s...rusted, burned. You’ve been denying it for a long time. But Castiel, I’m sorry, I cannot take yours out.”

“Why?” Castiel begged, and with shame, he realised he was crying, tears streaking down the side of his face. “Please.”

“I can’t,” the cupid whispered. “You know the order with cupids. We target many people on this earth, but there are certain bloodlines, certain _people_ that cannot be tampered with. It’s the reason you are merely sick and not dead, Castiel. Fate will not have it that you die this way. Not even my darkened, twisted grace can break your match.”

“Please, please,” Castiel begged, his head bowing. “Take it.”

“If I took it, you would not be in love,” the cupid murmured, sniffling. 

Castiel raised his hand, running it over his mouth as his lips trembled. Then he nodded and raised his face, his cheeks wet. 

“I know.”

“You wish for that?” the cupid asked, aghast. He stepped back and dropped his hand from his chest, staring at Castiel in shock.

“Can you take it from me or not?” Castiel growled through his bared teeth, shaking the blade in his hand, tears of frustration joining the others down his face. His chest heaved, the pain that settled there getting worse, gnawing and tearing at his heart.

The cupid shook his head sadly. “No, brother. I cannot. Your love was prophesied by God. It can’t be undone.”

“You don’t understand.” Castiel shook his head, hiccuping and pausing to release a singular wheezing sob before he whispered, “It’s not returned, Cupid. The match is broken; something went wrong.”

The cupid blinked, and his face mirrored Castiel’s, looking shattered, his eyes glittering. His hands came up and pressed against Castiel’s face, cupping his jaw.

“Dear fallen angel,” the cupid murmured. “What are you talking about?”

Castiel’s heavy breathing filled the room as he struggled to get a grip, but the pain, it was searing. He was dizzy and felt weak, his chest aching in a way that was crushing. He reached up and wrapped his finger around the cupid’s wrist.

His next words were barely a whisper in the silent room. “Can you fix me?”

The cupid, his brother, shook his head. “I am making your symptoms worse; my mere presence makes the heartache more physical. It manifests in illness, in poison...but Castiel, even if I leave, the pain will remain. That shrinking feeling in your heart, the ache inside you, it will remain. I can’t— _hhhhnggh_...”

Castiel’s blade was loud as it punctured the flesh and bone meatsuit the cupid occupied. His brother gasped, his breath escaping like a wheeze, his eyes widening as the blade slid into his body, piercing the grace inside him and dissolving the hot energy. Castiel released a wrenching breath that was so interwoven with his turmoil that it physically hurt him. When he twisted the blade, he knew the grace inside that cupid curled around the hot metal and shattered. 

He shut his eyes and turned away when grace blasted from within the cupid, searing through the room, sending a hot wave of air breezing through the space. When the energy dwindled to nothing and all the warmth was sucked from the room, Castiel opened his eyes, his vision blurry. He stepped out of the way and wrenched his arm back, pulling the blade out of dead flesh with a squelch. The vessel collapsed face-first into the carpet, his wrist slipping from Castiel’s grasp.

The room was silent other than the wet, trickling sound of thick blood leaking out of the corpse in spurts, soaking into the carpet.

Then the door burst open, and the Winchesters stumbled into the room, brandishing their weapons.

“Cas?” Dean asked, seeing him standing between the beds still holding his blade, his hand covered in blood, his shirt splattered with it. Castiel looked up at him, feeling broken.

Behind Dean, Sam looked up at Castiel’s face, then down to the cupid. “What happened? D-Did he attack you?”

Words. He was supposed to make words. But Castiel had a lump in his throat so large he was frightened that when he stopped holding his breath, he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all. He inhaled deeply through his nose and opened his mouth.

Still, no words came out. He just stared down at his hands and down past them, focusing on his brother’s dead body 

Then he raised his gaze and noticed; across each bed was the singed, smudged imprint of tattered, broken wings. On the bed where the bow and arrow had rested was a pile of ash.

“He needed to die,” Castiel said. He was horrified at how steady his voice was. “His presence alone was making people sick. It was killing them.”

The Winchesters released twin wooshes of air from between their lips and relaxed, splitting up to go put their weapons away.

“So, we’re done here?” Sam asked as he shoved his blade into the duffle bag on his bed. Castiel noticed he was purposefully avoiding eye contact. Sam cleared his throat and said, “Apart from the dead guy on the carpet and the ash everywhere.”

 _Another one of my dead siblings, a life taken by my hand again, yes, Sam,_ Castiel almost replied, but once again, he was speechless. He could only nod.

But Dean, after setting his weapon down, had walked to Castiel’s side. He stood there silently. As Castiel stared down at his brother, Dean stared at him. He could feel the concerned gaze boring into the side of his head.

“You all right?” Dean asked, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder against Castiel's. And when Castiel looked up, he saw Dean’s gaze was sad, sweeping his face, no doubt taking inventory of the shining cheeks and red eyes. Castiel could only imagine how pathetic Dean thought he looked. Unmanly, weak, blubbery. Other stupid human things that were supposed to matter to him now.

Words faded on his tongue, and again, Castiel just nodded. 

He couldn’t focus on the prospect of cleaning up the body, or cleaning himself up—not when he was crushed under the realization that the pain hadn’t gone away.

Cupid hadn’t been lying. The pain remained: strong, deep. It filled him as if it were energy, seeping into every crevice of his body. Instead of grace occupying his vessel, it was pain, loneliness, aching. He had so desperately, if foolishly, hoped that it would fade, that with the death of the cupid, the arrow would go away, but it hadn’t. Castiel had never known about the existence of the arrow until the cupid had confirmed his suspicion, but now he felt it like a phantom limb, the tip buried in his heart.

“You guys wanna clean this up now or later?” Sam asked. “I know we were hungry, but uh… y’know, maybe I’ll just go grab food and come back. Wouldn’t want the cleaners to come in—”

“Go eat, Sam,” Dean replied quietly. Castiel still felt his stare, hot on the side of his face. “Go eat whatever flaxseed nightmare you want. Cas and I are gonna grab a beer.” He shifted a bit on the spot and Castiel felt timid fingers press into the back of his arm. “You feel like doing that, Cas?”

Again, a nod. This time, Castiel reached up and rubbed his face with his hand, pulling away wetness with rough fingertips. 

“Sure.”

As if saying no to Dean was ever an option.

***

Sam, it seemed, felt awkward enough about Castiel’s show of pain that he was quick to leave them and let them leave as well, unbothered by the corpse still leaking blood into their carpet. He seemed so uncomfortable that he didn’t even make a joke about losing the deposit. Neither did Dean.

Dean _did,_ however, walk over to the kitchenette and fill a tall glass with water. He handed it wordlessly to Castiel, and his fingers were gentle when they took the bloody blade from Castiel’s hand. His voice were quiet when he ordered him to drink, and he started up a shower for Castiel without being asked. He took the glass from him and again, his words were gentle and soft when he suggested Castiel shower the blood off.

When Castiel came out of the shower half an hour later, the body was gone and Dean was on his hands and knees on the carpet, pouring hydrogen peroxide into the dirty surface and scrubbing at it with a wet towel. The covers were ripped off the bed, heaped in a pile in the corner of the room. Other than a towel soiled pink in Dean’s hand and the dark stain in the carpet, there was little evidence that Castiel had, once again, murdered a brother of his.

Castiel dressed in silence, putting on a new set of clothing. He hardly realised what it was; some kind of denim and a t-shirt—loaners from Dean. “Until you can get your own shit,” Dean had said. He pulled a black hoodie from a duffle bag and slid it over his arms, shaking out the zipper before yanking it up, hoping it would dull the sharp cold that he felt in the room.

Dean drove them to a local bar, just up the street. Castiel ate what was ordered. He finished every bit of it, knowing he was being watched. For the first time in weeks, he felt sick for a reason disconnected from the ache in his heart. The burger sat heavy in his stomach, but the beer was welcome, making him feel a bit light-headed in a way he didn’t entirely mind.

When they returned to the motel room, it reeked of copper. Dean sprayed a bit of his cologne in the air, but that just made Castiel feel worse. The sharp, warm smell of Dean settled into his own clothing now too, making Dean inescapable.

“Wanna watch TV?” Dean asked as Castiel stood awkwardly in the room, unwilling to go near the drying burgundy puddle, unwilling to touch the beds where ash had scattered. 

“No.”

Dean looked up, aborting his movement to turn on the old, box set. He cleared his throat and nodded. “All right. Come have another beer with me, then.”

Yes. He could have another beer. 

He sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs at a table adjacent to their kitchenette and accepted the bottle Dean put in front of him.

“To Valentine’s Day,” Dean chuckled, holding out his own bottle, waiting for the clink.

Castiel paused. His stomach gave a painful clench and he nodded. 

_Clink._

They both drank, and set their bottles back down on the table at the same time. Castiel made himself to look up at Dean, who was watching him carefully. Castiel forced a smile.

Dean was unphased. “What happened with the cupid?”

“He was compromised. Tainted,” Castiel explained, unable to look away from Dean’s face, irrationally fearful that Dean _knew._ “Our theories were correct. He had been checking in on old matches. We only failed to understand how he had killed them. He didn’t want to. He only wanted to take back the arrows, but the power of his hatred for humans was souring the bonds he’d created—”

“Yeah, I know. We were there. What happened with Cupid,” Dean repeated, “ _after_ we left?”

Dean Winchester was no fool. Castiel felt his stupid human heart pounding in his chest. Could he lie?

Should he?

“I killed him,” Castiel replied simply. He lowered his gaze, and occupied his fingers with tearing at the paper around the beer bottle now nestled in his hands. “He couldn’t change how he was affecting people, so he had to die. It was...regrettable, but it had to be done. If he lived, more people would get hurt.”

Dean hummed in agreement, nodding. His green eyes slid downwards, watching Castiel’s hands as they fiddled with the paper, ripping off little pieces and arranging them into a neat pile between his wrists.

“You were upset when we came in, Cas. Wanna tell me what really happened?”

The thick, heavy sound of Castiel swallowing was loud, competing only with the hum of the refrigerator.

“Would you believe me if I said I regretted killing him?” Castiel asked, his voice traitorously rough.

“No,” Dean replied simply.

Dean was patient, sitting still, staying quiet as Castiel fought an internal battle. He knew it was idiotic to lie to Dean. He no longer had his grace; he couldn’t just flee when he didn’t feel like talking. Still, it was hard to speak suddenly—the air in the room felt thick. Castiel was tugged from the dark, lonely place in his own mind when rough fingertips slid across the table and pressed against the back of his hand.

“My arrow,” Castiel whispered. He felt betrayed by his voice was it wavered. “I wanted him to take it.”

When Castiel looked up, a strange expression crossed Dean’s face. It made his mouth part ever so slightly and his eye lashes to flutter.

“Your arrow?” Dean blinked, shifting in his seat. “Were… Were you shot by that cupid?”

And there it was. Dean knew he was in love. He just didn’t know if Dean had any idea with who.

Regardless, the fact that it was out in the open made the air in the room lessen, and Castiel found himself overwhelmed with emotion. Without the existence of his grace filling the space inside his vessel, there was no buffer, no filter, no block for emotions anymore. They flowed freely of their own accord. They overcame, overwhelmed, and overstayed their welcome. Gone were the days where mere will could force the pain away. Now, Castiel suffered the emotions, and the pain of trying to suppress them. 

The pain of suppressing emotions was almost worse. It was sharp, it stung, and it was accompanied by guilt, and shame, and humiliation. The barricade would always fall and the emotions that rushed in came with a vengeance, angry that they’d been held back. They festered and built like a ball of angry and aggressive energy that both heightened his anxiety and zapped him of all emotional stamina until he felt sick, tired, numb.

Suppression had betrayed him yet again, and the wall he built around his emotions collapsed now under the strength of Dean’s gaze.

He was tired of the pain, he was little bit lightheaded from the beer, and he was exhausted. No amount of blinking would clear his vision. He couldn’t read the label on his beer.

“I thought if I ignored it, it would go away,” he whispered. “It almost did, a few times, when I was an angel. It was easier to suppress, but now...ever since I fell, it’s gotten worse.”

Dean shifted in the chair across from him. Castiel felt unable to lift his head, unable to meet that confused gaze that would very, very soon turn to disgust. “What’re you talking about, man?”

Cas sniffled and the crinkles around his eyes deepened as he grimaced. Tearing at the beer label in bigger strips, he rasped, “This _feeling_ in my chest. I thought… I looked it up on the internet. Everything, the chest pain, the guilt, the fear, it only brought up results about depression.”

Dean sighed. “Amen to that, man. I’ve been there.”

Cas shook his head. “But Dean, it doesn’t feel _bad_. I don’t feel bad; it doesn’t feel wrong. I only feel…confused. Broken, a bit.” He reached up with a fingertip to rub under his eye, to catch a droplet of frustration from his lash. “As soon as I fell, every emotion felt amplified, almost uncontrollable—”

The fingertips on the back of his hand pressed against his skin, urging him on. Still, his voice raised a bit, and his throat tightened so much he felt like he’d choke.

But Dean. Dean was patient. Quiet. “Talk to me, man.”

“I wake up consumed with regret. Like I missed my chance, like I acted foolishly. The pain in my heart feels wretched.”

Dean exhaled heavily, then he said, “Dude, the thing with Metatron… It wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to feel like this—”

Dean abruptly stopped talking when Castiel tipped his head down, and his shoulders shook with laughter. The horrible, deep pain in his chest got worse, with every bitter chuckle, with every angry little laugh. 

“I wish,” Castiel laughed, hating the sound. “I wish I was talking about that. That would be easier.”

His hand slid back, breaking contact with Castiel’s hand. Dean blinked. “Then what?”

Castiel had been angry with himself for laughing, but he missed the sound as soon as it died away, leaving his features to slowly fall. He found himself scratching at the beer bottle, devoid of any amusement. His shoulders felt heavy again, his eyes downturned to watch his fidgeting fingers. He could feel the horrible stinging in his sinuses, the tightness in his face. He felt his face heat up—he was sure he was turning red as he held his breath, trying to contain his emotions.

He so desperately didn’t want to cry in front of Dean.

“You still talkin’ about that arrow?” his friend asked softly, and Castiel noted the slight lift in his voice, denoting confusion.

Castiel nodded, his hand turning the bottle.

“Wait, wait, wait, “ Dean said, holding up a hand. He seemed to struggle with something, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he stared at Castiel warily. “Are, uh… Are you talking about, uh, heartbreak?”

Castiel pushed a slow exhale through a small part in his lips. “I imagine that’s what that means. Of course, my heart isn’t broken, it’s perfectly functional a far as hearts goes—”

“Ah, man,” Dean groaned. “Been there done that. Feels like shit, I know.”

“It does,” Cas agreed, his voice small.

“Bright side,” Dean said, tipping his beer in the air, hovering it in front of his lips. “You get over it, eventually.”

Cas winced, then he asked hoarsely, “When?”

Struggling to swallow his beer quick enough to answer, Dean pressed his wrist to his lips and asked, “What? 

“When?” Cas asked again. He stared at Dean, his face contorted in pain. “It’s taking so long. It’s been years; I just want this dull ache to fade.”

Dean chuckled bitterly. “Man, it took me a while, with Cassie, y’know. She was this girl I was totally smitten with when I was younger. Had to straight up leave her behind.” Dean made a pushing gesture with his hand, while he shook his head sorely. “Had to ride off. It was the only way...to just never see her again.”

God. That hurt. The very idea of doing that… Castiel sucked in a harsh breath, watching his fingers give into the anxiety, trembling as they picked at the beer label. “I don’t want to do that,” he breathed, licking his lips, his chin crumpling. “And I don’t think I can. I’ve tried to leave...I always come back.”

It was a little heartbreaking to hear Dean chuckle tiredly. “Dude, who is it that you’re falling so hard for, huh? Anyone I know?”

It couldn’t be helped. Tears in his eyes be damned, because Castiel pulled up his gaze, fixing the watery stare on Dean. He took inventory of his features, his eyes scanning his face. 

Dean watched his chin tremble. Castiel felt like a coward, but as soon as Dean’s face went slack and his eyes went a bit wide, Castiel looked away. 

“Cas…”

And just like that, with no words uttered, Dean knew. Castiel felt the shift as he understood. And it was _not_ freeing. It wasn’t liberating in any sense. As a matter of fact, he dearly wished he could take it back.

Propping his elbow on the table, Castiel put his forehead on his hand, a tear dripping down his nose. He choked out, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Cas…”

Cas stared sadly down at the table, struggling to keep himself together as his face crumpled completely, and tears slid down his face as he sucked in a loud, harsh breath.

“Cas,” Dean asked slowly, “are you in love with me?”

Cas turned his face away, dragging the back of his hand over his face, humiliated. He stared hard at the wall beside them and his leg bounced under the table. He sniffled hard.

The heavy silence from Dean was indication of how disgusted he was. 

The _humiliation_. That was a new feeling. Castiel hadn’t experienced humiliation enough as an angel to even remember the feeling at all. But it was suddenly everywhere, occupying every inch of his consciousness, every joint and muscle and nerve in his body. It made his head feel endlessly heavy in his palm, making him unable to look up.

Dean exhaled loudly and they sat in silence for a minute before Dean spoke. “‘Cause, you know, if you are…that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

Letting go of the bottle, Cas dragged his hands back over the table, pulling them down in between his thighs. He lifted his head like it was suddenly weightless and his breath skipped audibly as he inhaled. As it exhaled, it shook and sounded suspiciously like a small sob.

He stared at Dean, blue eyes glassy, disbelieving. “Dean, d-don’t feel like you have to lie. I’ve felt this way for years, I’ll survive—”

Dean’s lip twitched up in the corner and he reached back, shuffling the chair away from the table. He held up one finger to silence him.

Castiel watched from the other side, his entire body shaking.

From his back pocket, Dean tugged out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Cas, who took it after a moment of hesitation.

In his hands was a little red heart, just big enough to fit in one of his palms. It was made of thick, fuzzy construction paper, bordered in shaky lines of pink glitter. There were three pieces of dry macaroni glued haphazardly around in-between strings of dried hot glue. 

In the middle, in Dean’s scratchy handwriting was; “Castiel”.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dean murmured, grinning. “I used the blue marker because it smells like raspberries.”

Cas stared at the silly card. 

Then he leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, burying his face in the sleeves of his hoodie. Hiding seemed like the only reasonable thing to do as tears started to run down his face and hitched, hiccuped sobs escaped completely on their own.

“Oh, man,” Dean groaned. Castiel heard the screeching of Dean dragging his chair around the table. As Dean sat back down, much closer now, their knees bumped under the table. A warm hand petted the back of Castiel’s head, fingers scrunching in his hair.

Then, like the coat in the backseat of the car, Dean’s scent overtook him and he felt a warm presence curl around him. Dean’s arms went around his shoulders and Castiel felt Dean’s face press into his folded arms, like he was trying to burrow into Castiel’s hiding spot.

The horrible, heavy feeling in Castiel’s chest dissolved and he sobbed. It was gone. It was gone after _years._ Dean was laughing in his personal space and it felt _freeing._

Dean laughed harder as Castiel began to laugh and cry at the same time.

“Dude,” Dean wheezed, “I didn’t expect the first time I admitted to being in love with you to end in you crying, Cas. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda don’t know what to do.”

Castiel dragged himself up off the table and enveloped Dean in a hug, burying the lower half of his face in Dean’s shoulder.

“Say it again,” Castiel breathed.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered against Cas’ hair. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“Thank you,” Castiel choked out. 

Dean’s laughter shook them both. “You can say it back _any time now,_ Cas. Cardinal rule of ‘I love you’s is don’t say ‘thank you’ back.”

“I love you. _Of course_ I love you.” Castiel rushed out, licking at his dry lips. Then he pulled back and stared at Dean. Abruptly, he punched him in the arm. “You never showed it. You _never_ showed me.”

Dean rubbed at his arm, grinning despite the fact that he would definitely bruise. “You know that sick feeling? The pain, the ache. All that shit? Yeah, I’ve felt it for years, Cas. The cupid didn’t affect me because I’m just...used to it. The flirting, the macho-BS, the no-chick-flicks-moment-BS, the reason you sit in the back seat all the time...it’s ‘cause I love you and I didn’t…” Dean’s smile fell a bit and shrugged helplessly. “...I just didn’t know you even felt that way.”

Castiel released a pained, gruff bark of laughter, sniffling back happy tears as Dean punched him in the shoulder in return.

“You never showed it!” Dean returned, jutting a finger in Castiel’s face. “ _You_ never showed _me._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said thickly, his voice still wet as he looked down at the card held between his hands. It was a bit crumpled because he’d squeezed it between his fingers, but he adored it. Macaroni and all. He looked up, feeling no resistance against looking at Dean in the eye anymore. With a big, gummy grin, he said, “Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas.”

Dean reached forward and his hands hesitated, hovering on either side of Cas’ face. Then he seemed to bite the bullet and his fingers brushed over Castiel’s cheekbones, warm and comforting. His palms rested on his face, finding a home.

“I don’t celebrate that anymore,” Dean murmured, leaning in, tilting his head a bit.

Castiel held his breath, eyes wide as they searched Dean’s face. Their lips were _just there_. Inches away from meeting.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Castiel whispered.

He felt Dean’s grin, as their eyes slid shut, and their lips met in the middle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of this graphic: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/532008566744416256/545078346212704266/51951546_10213299177176035_4965302547196674048_n.jpg  
> It seems to be posted by jensenaeckles but made by destielalltheway_ :) Credit to those peeps for the graphic. Go check them out!  
>  
> 
> As for the fic, please leave me a comment, let me know what you think. Comments seriously light up my life. <3


End file.
